if there were a tear of joy mixed upwith it, joy at the hope of seeing a kind old master again.
Even the crane felt it his bounden duty to indulge in an extra hop ortwo, and to shout, "Scray--scray--scray--ay--ay!"
It was the Admiral's voice that caused honest Tom Tandy to get up fromhis chair, lay down his pipe, and hurry to the door.
"Hill--ll--o!" he shouted. "Here we all are, Ransey Tansey, Babs, andBob, and all. Why, this _is_ a merry meeting. Come, Babs. Hoist away,Ransey. Hee--hoy--ip! and there she is safely landed in harbour. Soyou missed your old father, little lass, did you? Bless it. But we'reall going on to-morrow, and the _Merry Maiden_ has got a new coat o'paint, and new furniture for the cuddy, and it's no end of a jolly timewe'll all have."
Yes, it _was_ a merry meeting, and a right happy one. I only wish thatboth Miss Scragley and Captain Weathereye had seen it.
"Why," the former would have said to herself, "this good fellow couldsurely never have been a slave to the bottle!"
Mr Tandy had never really been a constant imbiber of that soul-killingcurse of our country--drink; but some years gone by, like many anotherold sailor, he was liable to slide into an occasional "bout," as it iscalled, and it was with sorrow he thought of this now. But MissScragley and many others have yet to learn that it is often thebest-hearted and the brightest that fall most easily into temptation.
As for Weathereye, had he been a witness of this little reunion, he toowould have given his opinion about the sturdy old sailor.
"Why!" he would have cried frankly to Mr Tandy, [pronounced Tansey onlyby the children] "why, my good fellow, Miss Scragley, who is faddy andelderly, and myself, old fool that I am at the best, were consideringwhat best we could do for your children. We were to do all kinds ofpretty things. The boy was going to a school, the child to a home, andyou--ha, ha, ha--you, with your bold face and your sturdy frame, a manof barely forty, were going to be sent to the house. Ha, ha, no wonderI laugh. But tip us your flipper, Tandy, you're a man every inch--a manand a sailor."
That is what Weathereye would have said had he seen Tandy sitting therenow.
They are right in saying that those whom animals and children love arepossessed of right good hearts of their own.
And here was this old sailor--the word "old" being simply a term ofendearment, for none but the sickly are old at forty, and they've beenold all the time--sitting erect in his chair, Babs on one knee, thegreat cat on the other; Ransey on the hearth looking smilingly up atfather's bronzed face, silver-sprinkled hair and beard; the Admiralstanding on one leg behind the chair; and poor Bob asleep before thefire, with his chin reposing on his old master's boot.
It was a pretty picture.
"Children," says Tandy at last, "it is getting late, and--just kneeldown. I think we'll say a bit of a prayer to-night."
Book 1--CHAPTER SEVEN.
ON SILENT HIGHWAYS.
It was early next morning when Ransey Tansey ran off through the fieldsfor a double allowance of milk.
"Double allowance to-day, Mrs Farrow," he shouted. "Oh, yes, father'scome; and we're goin' on to-day. Isn't it just too awfully jolly foranything?"
"Well, I'm sorry to lose you and Babs."
"Back in a month, Mrs Farrow. It'll soon pass, ye know. But I--I am akind o' sorry to leave you too, for ye've been so good to Babs and Boband me."
There was a tear in Ransey's eye as he took the milk-can and prepared todepart.
"The Admiral can take care o' his little self," he said, "but there'sMurrams."
"Yes, dear boy, and our nipper shall go over every morning, and putMurrams's bowl of milk in through the broken pane."
"Oh, now I'm happy, just downright happy."
"Well, off you run. Mind never to forget to say your prayers."
"No; and I'll pray for Murrams, for the Admiral, for you, and all."
He waved his hand now, and quickly disappeared.
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The world wasn't a very wide one just yet to these poor children, Ranseyand Babs. It was chiefly made up of that little cottage which went bythe uncanny name of Hangman's Hall, and of the carrying barge orcanal-boat yclept _Ye Merry Maiden_. But when at home, at the hut, theyhad all the sweet, green, flowery fields around them, the stream, andthe wild woods. These formed the grand seminary in which Ransey studiednature, and moreover, studied it without knowing he was studyinganything. To him every creature, whether clad in fur or in feather, wasa friend. He knew all their little secrets, and they _knew_ that heknew them. Not a bird that sang was there that he did not know by itseggs, its nest, or its notes; not a rabbit, hare, vole, or field-mousethat he could not have told you the life-story of. His was a--
"Knowledge never learned at schools, Of the wild bee's morning chase. Of the wild flowers' time and place; Flight of fowl, and habitude Of the tenants of the wood; How the tortoise bears his shell; How the woodchuck digs his cell, And the ground mole makes his well; How the robin feeds her young; How the oriel's nest is hung; Of the black wasp's cunning way, Mason of his walls of clay; And the architectural plans Of grey hornet artisans."
It is true enough that this family was poor in the eyes of the world. Iam sure they were not ashamed of it, however.
The poverty that goes hand in hand with honesty may hold up its headbefore the Queen.
"Is there, for honest poverty, That hangs his head, and a' that? The coward slave, we pass him by; We dare be poor for a' that! For a' that, and a' that, Our toils obscure, and a' that; The rank is but the guinea stamp, The man's the gowd for a' that?"
So sang the immortal Robert Burns.
But could any boy, or girl either, be really poor who had so manyfriends in field and forest, and by the winding stream? No; and such aone as this, who has been in touch with nature in his or her early days,may grow up, grow old, but never forget the days of youth, and never,never lose faith in Heaven and a happy Beyond.
The cottage and the surrounding country, however, did not constitute allthe children's world. There was the ship--as I have said--the bargethat went to sea, and in which they so often sailed.
For to them as yet the barge was a brig, and the canal the ocean wideand wild. Well, I might on second thoughts withdraw those "weewordies," _wide_ and _wild_. The canal was not a very wide one, nor wasit ever very wild, in summer time at all events.
Never mind, to the imagination of Ransey, Babs, and Bob, the _MerryMaiden_ was--
"A gallant ship, with a crew as brave As ever sailed the ocean wave."
The crew of the _Merry Maiden_, I may tell you at once, was a very smallone indeed, and consisted--all told, that is--of the captain himself,who was likewise cook, boatswain, and bedmaker all combined; one sturdy,great boy of sixteen, strong enough to lift almost any weight, Sammy byname, who was first lieutenant, supercargo, and chief engineer, and whooften took his trick at the wheel--that is, he took the tiller andrelieved his captain, or mounted Jim and relieved Ransey; Ranseyhimself, who was second engineer--Jim, the stout old bay nag, being theengine itself, the moving power when no fair wind was blowing; and Bob,whose station was at the bows, and his duty to keep a good look-out andhail those aft if any other ship hove in sight or danger was near.
The _Merry Maiden_ rejoiced in one mast, which had to be cleverlylowered when a bridge had to be negotiated. The sail was a fore-and-aftone, though very full at times. Picturesquely reddish-brown it was, andlooked so pretty sometimes against the green of the trees that, as thecraft sailed slowly on in the sunshine, dreamy artists, seated smokingat their out-door easels, often made the _Merry Maiden_ part and parcelof the landscape they were painting.
I think that Tandy himself liked being on board. The barge was his own,and carrying light wares or parcels from village to village, or town totown, his trade.
Things had gone backwards with Tandy as long as he looked upon the rumw
hen it was red; he had got into debt. But now he was comfortable,jolly once more, because his keel was clear, as he phrased it; and as hereclined to-day on the top of the cuddy, or poop, with the tiller in hishand, Babs nestling near him, with the greenery of the woods, thefields, and little round knolls floating dreamily past him in thesilvery haze of the sunshine, he looked a picture of health, happiness,and contentment.
Ransey and Babs took their canal life very easily. They never knew orcared where they were going to, nor thought of what they might see.Even the boy's knowledge of the geography of his own country was verylimited indeed.
He had some notion that his father's canal--he grandly termed it sooccasionally--was somewhere away down in the midlands. And